


Horns Up, Bull Down

by alexandrar0se



Series: Horns Up, Bull Down [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hurt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 15:10:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3654951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexandrar0se/pseuds/alexandrar0se
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fae Lavellan reaches her limit upon her return from the Fallow Mire, and unleashes her wrath upon some terrified scouts and Chantry sisters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The snow that so graciously topped the small lake-side village of Haven was a much welcome sight. The way the sun shone and illuminated the ice and the crystals on the rooves, tents and walls, the way the air was crisp and sharp as it filled the Herald’s aching lungs. It was familiar, and clean, not depressing, and welcome.

The shouting and sneering of scattered templars and hordes of mages in front of the Chantry however? Not so welcome. Fae Lavellan rubbed her temples with two slender fingers as she let pass a short sigh through her nose. She stood beneath the gates of Haven, flanked by Seeker Cassandra, Varric and Solas, all three tired and aching from saddle-sore, low supplies, and constant wet weather.

The Brecilian Sure-Foot Hart she rode had been handed in to Dennet with the other 3 Ferelden horses specifically for the Herald’s party just moments ago, and Fae yearned for her quarters adjacent to the apothecary. For the fire, for the sound of Flissa’s tavern’s laughter echoing outside the window, for Varric’s tales and Solas’ tutoring. For Bull’s roaring laughter.

"My Lady Herald, welcome back." A voice roused her from her longing thoughts, and she turned her head to the nerve ridden scout by her side. This was the scout who greeted her at Val Royeux, and in her exhausted state she struggled to remember her name.

"Oh, uh.. Paula.. P-Portia! Yes, what is it?" Varric weakly chuckles behind her, patting her lower back in departure back to his tent.

"Commander Cullen, Ambassador Montilyet and Sister Leliana wish to hear your report on the Inquisition soldiers from the—" 

  
“Yes, yes, from the motherfucking titty sucking two balled hell hole that is the Fallow Mire. I’m going, I’m going.”

Fae marches off in annoyance, heading for the room at the back of the humble Chantry reserved for their war meetings, while Cassandra briefly apologizes for the Herald’s language to Scout Portia and some surrounding Chantry sisters who glare stunned, distracted from their reciting of the Chant.

Muttering to herself as she rubs at the dark circles under her green-blue doe eyes, she overhears two Chantry sisters who frequently gossip by the walls of the Chantry as she marches by. Intrigued, she slows down a little.

"You got back to the tent a little late last night."  
“And what of it?”  
“I was just checking you didnt get any thoughts about that Iron Bull you were talking about.”

_For fuck’s sake_ , she thought, _does any woman here not look at the Iron Bull and want to see him naked as a nug?_ Fae prepares to speed up, until the sister’s comment halts her in her tracks.

"I just wanted to thank him for his healer’s great advice. Without him we’d be lost!"  
“Ah, and that’s why you’re walking funny.”  
“I thanked him several times in fact, and then he thanked me back.”

Bile rose in Fae’s throat, along with a growl she could only muffle as she hastily marched on to the Chantry, and the war room.

 

* * *

 

The doors swung open vigerously, ricocheting off the stone walls and slamming closed as her lithe frame stormed into the room. Cullen’s cheeks heated softly; to see the Herald close up was a sight to behold, but it was more of fear than awe that he took in her appearance today. She was.. 'furious' did not do her mood justice.

Fae Lavellan stood before him across the war table—while he stood beside his fellow advisors, bathed and relaxed and calm, the Herald was angry and dirty and tired. Her blonde hair, matted by poor weather and riding, was greased and tied back, exposing her small pointed ears that were red at the tips from cold and rage; her eyes were bloodshot, adding to the fearsome depiction of her Worship, and slight bags hung under them in exhaustion. Her armor was still on her, sodden and heavy with moisture, blood stained and torn from combat, and her staff was still slung on her back. He feared in her deep rage and exhaustion that she may obliterate them on the spot.

"For fuck’s sake, let’s just get this over with so I can break something and get out of these fucking clothes. Leliana, what did you send my clan?"

"News of your treatment and your aid against the Breach, and a modest pouch of coin. It may not seem like much for Dalish, but they can use that coin for—"

"Aravel repairs and trade with humans, yes. Cullen, are the bandits dealt with or did you stick it to the Bannon and help the refugees?"

_Sweet Maker_ , he thought, _best to answer curtly and in little words. I don’t want her wrath cast upon me today._

"Refugees. We have complaints from the Bannon but he takes his rage out on his rival."

She nods. “Josephine? The Lydes hullabaloo?”

"On the path to completion, my Lady. We shall hear word in a few weeks."

"Good. Well, lets get this shit sorted then.."

 

* * *

 

"Uuuugggghhhhh!" cried Fae as she finally walked out of the Chantry and swiftly to her chambers.

"Greetings, lethallin—" Solas started, before raising a startled eyebrow at the cry of frustration that roared from his fellow elf-mage’s throat.

After a few moments contemplation, Solas strode towards Fae’s room and rapped his knuckles on the door. He softened his tone for his pupil, the tip of his ears sensitively rubbing the door as he turned his head. “Da’len, may I enter?”

The door swings open, and Solas is greeted with the sight of Fae in the bath, a flush crossing his cheeks and narrow nose—until he notes with relief that she has cast some kind of mist about the surface of the water, so that nothing but her shoulders, knees, arms, lithe neck and of course her head and wet, curly blonde hair are on show. _I must say_ , he thinks to himself, _the Dalish must be close knit if she is this comfortable_.

"Our journey was long and tiresome, da’len, but your spirits were high when we approached Haven. Tell me, what troubles you?"

Her silence is deafening, and he prepares himself to respect her refusal to answer and—

"Chantry sisters. Scouts who fear my pointed ears. Chantry clerics. Fallow Mire. Corpses. Chantry sisters. Avaar. Breach. Mages. Templars. Chantry sisters. War room meetings. Reports. Chantry sisters."

The torrent of annoyance doesn't seem to end, and he blinks in shock as she throws her head back and growls again.

"The Iron fucking Bull."  
“The qunari mercenary captain? He has offended you?”  
“No. Yes.”  
“Is this an affair of the heart, da’len?”  
“No. Yes.”  
“Ah, then you are better off speaking to Seeker Pentaghast.”  
“Cass? Why would Cassandra..”

She trails off, her shapely eyebrows knotting in a frown, and he replies with a subtle, knowing smile. After a moment’s peace, he changes tactics.

"Hm, perhaps seek the assistance of the Child of the Stone?"

Fae does not reply, and instead dunks her head under the water, totally submerging. The apostate smiles at his pupil, and takes his leave to let her rest. If rumor was true, they would finally lead their second and final assault on the Breach on the dawn of the morrow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fae's fury has not curbed the next morning, and after breaking her fast, she marches into the Chantry having made up her mind.

The sun had not yet risen fully over the Frostbacks when Fae was roused from her slumber by a child's cry of delight outside her window. Through said window, ribbons of sunlight shone and streaked the innards of her quarters--a warm and pleasant sight to wake to. She laid in bed for a few moments, staring at the wooden ceiling blankly, her green-gold eyes slowly blinking away the sleep. When she was ready, and her mind clear of the Fade dreams, she swung her lithe legs over the side of her bed and slipped on a pair of simple sole-less slippers and a robe over her shoulders. Still not fully awake, Fae leaned out of her window to see what the fuss that had woken her was about.

 

"Good morning, Herald!" called Flissa from the opposite window as she flung them open, and the cheery barkeep gave her a wave. It was enough to make her smile, and enough to make her laugh when the child caught her attention once more; it had found a Fennec fox that had strayed into the village, and was chasing it. This peace of a morning in the Inquisition was getting more and more rare--oft fights would have broken out between the conscripted mages and the stray templars before dawn had even broke, or a horde of battered pilgrims had arrived half dead or half frozen in search of Andraste in these troubled times, or Inquisition soldiers were preparing to make for a small march to wherever Commander Cullen had sent them. This peace was rare.

 

Fae waved her greetings to Flissa, before turning back into her room to find some clothes. After washing her face with some cold water in a basin and a tiny bar of scented soap that had been a gift from an 'admirer', she slowly brushed and braided her waist length blonde hair--first braiding the odd shoulder length part Sera had cut by accident behind her ear where her head was shaved, and then brushing the rest over her opposite shoulder to braid to her waist. _I suppose I'll have to cut it soon.. To a more practical length, seeing as I'm fighting pretty much everything that moves now._

 

* * *

 

 

There was nothing better than burnt bacon and toast washed down with ale. In all his life, Varric Tethras had never known how much that small combination would mean to him. Of late, his travels with the Herald around Ferelden had just shown how fortunate he was to be here, among her closest allies, rather than out there--fending off demons with Bianca, starving to death if not being picked of everything but your small clothes (well in some cases, your small clothes too) by bandits and raiders. Or being interrogated and dragged off to the ass end of Thedas by a brash, angsty, brutal Seeker. 

 

Varric happily tucked into the meal before him, liking the quiet of the tavern this early in the morning--until the sound of the door behind him rang, and then slammed closed. _Ah_ , he thought, a smile on his face filled with bacon, _the Dalish arises_.

 

"Ah, the infamous and fabled celebrity among us simple folk! The glorious and mysterious Herald of Andraste, in a lowly simple tavern in the middle of no where, stalking through the door in search of something succulent to break her fast.." Varric put on his story-teller's voice, smirking as he eyed the children in the tavern, and laughing heartily as they cried out in terror and ran out, lest they be the succulent breakfast of the Herald.

 

Fae's chuckle was a welcome one--if there was one thing he liked about her, it was her laugh--but this morning, it sounded flat. He watched her as she sat down opposite him, only having taken some water and charred toast from the breakfast table. Something was off. 

 

"Toast and bread? You're eating like you're in a prison cell. Not getting your strength up?"

"I'm just not hungry, Varric. Got a problem with my burnt toast?"

"No, it's not that. It's just.. some folk about here say you're gonna get the mages and close the Breach today, and if that's true you _might_ want some more burnt toast."

 

Fae looked up at that, and in her emerald eyes he saw the flecks of gold, and was suddenly struck by her gaze--there was something striking about the details of it. Her eyes were lined with think black khol, her eyelashes thick and dark, and the rims of her iris dark green lined with black. It was smoldering--his first instinct, funnily enough, was to base a character on her in his next book. Perhaps the one he was writing about Philomena, the short raven haired beauty, promised to the Templar order at 6 years old..

 

"Varric?"

"Wha--yes?"

"I said, who told you I was closing the Breach today?"

"Just most of the Inquisition, nothing to worry about."

"Right--no. I'm not ready yet. And if I could change the subject, I wanted to talk to you about something.."

"Shoot."

 

She catches her bottom lip with her teeth and sighs through her nose, and while he waits for her to have her vent he leans back and washes down his breakfast.

 

* * *

 

 

He raps his knuckles on the door in a way that seems a little too soft to him for Commander. He clears his throat, and puts on his best Commander-y voice.

"F--uh, Herald, there's a meeting in the Chantry we'd like you to attend at noon. Please."

He waits.

"Herald?"

 

"If you search for the Herald, she is not here Commander."

 

Cullen turns abruptly at the voice, and is greeted by the elven apostate under Fae's protection that stands outside the house behind him. Without anything on his feet. He feels shame that he does not remember the elf's name, even if he _is_ a mage--but he risked his life and his freedom to help them when they needed it. He simply comes up with the conclusion not to address him.

 

"As you are not with her I assume she's still in Haven--do you know where she is?"

The elf nods briefly, and then turns his head toward the tavern. 

"She's breaking her fast with Varric, or if she is not there then she is likely on the pier across the frozen lake. You can see her from the gates."

"Thank you."

 

Cullen breathes out slightly, a cloud of mist drifting away in the chill air, and he makes his way down the steps to head to the Tavern first. He could easily send a scout.. but Haven is small, it will be easy to find her, and he enjoys the walk. And he for some reason, wants to see her before the meeting at noon if he can. A post outside the door of the Tavern catches his eye, and he reads it only to smile--it is the tale of the Singing Maiden. He puts it back and walks around slightly, before pushing the door to the Tavern open and immediately having his senses assaulted with strong smells of ale and bacon and toast. His mouth waters, and then his pulse rises when his eyes fall upon her icy blonde braid, his fingers itching to unravel it. He shakes his head at the thought, and her conversation with Varric registers.

 

"If he's that kind of guy, Goldie, then he's that kinda guy. Let go of the rippling pectorals."

"Funnily enough Varric, that doesn't help. They're just there, ya'know? Like, there!"

 

A furious blush rushes across Cullen's face as Fae grips her breasts beneath her tunic. He turns to get a glass of water and retain his dignity, and offers all the thanks in the world and even a bloody goat sacrifice to Andraste that he hasnt been noticed yet.

 

"Surely there's others in our little band who can pop your cork."

"Like who, Varric? Even if I would consider such activity I cant just turn to someone in the middle of the Hinterlands and ask for a shag. Especially someone that I travel with for weeks to get back and forth."

"Point taken. I would though."

"We know you would, you'd even go for a roll with the Seeker."

 

The roar of laughter from Fae's throat has Cullen turning, and he cant even hide his smirk as the scene before him comes apparent--Varric had been taken by surprise by the comment and was so shocked that his mouthful of ale had been spat and snorted out--running down his tunic, chin, and even coming out of his nose! Cullen's laugh joined Fae's as Varric went red as a beet,  until a deep voice cursing behind him made silence fall upon the tavern.

 

The Iron Bull walked in with his arm around a chantry sister, and after a few moments the crash of a chair, Varric's ''oh shit'' and the slamming of the opposite door all ring alarm bells in the Commander's head. From there he took off, and went after her.

 

* * *

 

 

_Fucking son of a_.. Fae snarled as she stormed towards the Chantry, her nails digging into her palms as her hands balled into tight fists, her jaw tightening as she ground her teeth together. She pushed at the doors with huge force, shoving them back to open them wide as she did not stop, marching down the isle. She could hear Cullen rushing after her as she booted open the door at the back of the Chantry--as the door swung open, Leliana, Cassandra and Josephine all looked up from a report Leliana held.

The whole room was in silence until she growled out the words: "Get the fucking mages. We're closing the Breach--now."


End file.
